Strength Through Music
by russels
Summary: AU: Blaine Anderson officially declares war. The whole world is unrealistic, but a high school is within his grasp. It will require meticulous planning, cautious actions and a date. Whatever happens in the end, his wrath will be Godlike.
1. Chapter One

**A/N: **I want to warn readers that as this fic progresses it will become increasingly difficult for many people to read. It's based on real life events and the fate of the characters will become evident soon. I hope that everything will be fully explained in the end. I think it's important to show people that eventhough the Blaine I will be portraying is very different from the one we know and love, he is still a normal teenager, although admittedly slightly dark and twisted, with a very negative outlook on life. I'm still slightly cautious about posting this because I don't want to offend anyone, so comments and feedback would be very much appreciated. Thank you.

* * *

"Have you seen that new kid?" Finn announced.

The New Directions were sat in a cluster in the far corner of the choir room. It wasn't often that the McKinley Jazz Ensemble would sit with them, despite the many hours they spent together. But today, the school was surging with the rumours of a new transfer student.

It was rare that someone would move to such a desolate place like Lima, Ohio. Usually people read the realty brochures and they were out of the town like a flash.

Everyone knew everyone: Many of the people who lived there had been there for years and it was likely to continue like that until the town was obliterated by some kind of nuclear weapons or the entire human race was wiped out due to global warming - or whatever shit scientists are spurting these days.

"Which kid?" Sam questioned. He'd never actually been present for the arrival of anyone new. The first time, he was the new student, and the second he was working as an underage stripper in Kentucky. It had never been at the forefront for Sam's mind, but he wondered whether the news that he attended McKinley spread just as fast as this.

"The _new_ one…"

"Really Finn, your descriptive skills astonish me..." Kurt chimed in. He was sat in his usual seat, at the edge of the group, legs crossed and arms folded. He wasn't really paying attention to the conversation currently going on between his peers. He'd learnt this when Rory arrived earlier this year that new students really weren't that interesting, they were just like everyone else, but Irish. Sam was an exception, he was one of the only straight high school guys he'd ever met, who hadn't turned around and walked in the opposite direction when they saw him approaching, or wanted to toss him in the dumpster.

"You'll know him when you see him. He's really… weird."

"How do you mean weird? Like Jacob Israel weird? I know things about that boy: Horrible things." Rachel said. Jacob Israel's requests to see her 'over-the-shoulder boulder-holder' was something which was burned into her mind. Rachel believed in seeing the best in everyone, accepting people as they are, but Jacob was just… _too_ _much._

"Nah, he's just strange. He's wearing all this grungy-army gear…"

"Wait, wasn't your dad in the army?" Mercedes piped up.

"Yeah…" Finn responded, bemused.

"You know, Finn, you seem to be the only one who's seen this "new kid"," Quinn used her fingers to make air quotations. "I'm beginning to doubt he even exists." She said, raising one of her eyebrows as she spoke.

"No, no, he does exist, I swear. He's in my fitness class, I saw him before lunch."

"Okay, hold up one moment, Frankenteen. _You_ take fitness?" Santana scoffed and Brittany giggled beside her.

"Er, yeah, I mean, I have to stay in shape…"

"_Stay in shape_? I almost drowned in those fat rolls…"

"Okay, thank you, Santana. I don't think we need to hear anymore of your lies." Rachel stood up to defend her boyfriend, guarding him from Santana as if she was a lion stalking her prey. Santana rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, turning away from the group. Rachel turned around and put her hands on her boyfriend's shoulders. "Finn, you're not fat, you're just… cuddly."

"Erm… thanks?"

"Right, okay, settle down, everybody," Mr. Schuester strode into the choir room, clapping his hands and rubbing them together, the same way he always did. "Rachel, take a seat, we have a lot to get through."

Rachel cleared her throat. "Mr. Schuester? Can I make an announcement?"

"Sure, Rachel," He moved from his position leaning against the piano and gestured for Rachel to take his place.

"Hello, fellow glee clubbers. As you are all aware, we have a new student roaming the halls of McKinley, and I think we should take advantage of this opportunity to recruit him as a new member of the New Directions."

"Okay, we just said like, literally five minutes ago that this dude was creepy has hell…" It was Santana who reminded the group, a few of them nodded in agreement.

"I think you're missing the whole point of our glee club," Kurt stood up, walked down the steps and joined Rachel at the front. "We're the kids that no one understands, that no one will talk to, that people _hate_. For all the cheerleaders, jocks, the "popular people" in the room right now, they like you, but for some of us, we're in the same place we've always been: the bottom of the pyramid. If this new guy really is as weird as you make him out to be, then he'll need a place to belong. We can be that place: being part of something special makes you special, right?"

The group stared at the pair. Mr Schuester walked over to the board and wrote that week's assignment title on the whiteboard.

"Okay, guys. You know what to do."

* * *

Blaine Anderson put his hand into his pocket and pulled out his iPod. He put his earphones in and picked his soundtrack. The faint thud of the bass line pounded from his headphones as he walked down the halls of McKinley High School.

Kids gathered in small clusters at their lockers, down each side of the corridor. They whispered behind their hands, clutching their bags tighter and moved their heads, watching Blaine with each step that he took.

He moved deliberately slowly, placing his boot-clad feet one in front of another, his gaze shifting from one side of the room to another, from one group of students to the next. His right hand was stuffed into the one of the many pockets of his combat pants, the other a lose grip on the strap of his backpack. The loose curls on the top of his head the same colour as his t-shirt. White letters stretched across his chest: _Kein Mehrheit Für Die Mitleid_.

When Blaine settled on staring at the empty corridor in front of him, he didn't notice the two figures approaching him from behind: The music flooding his brain, drowning out the sound of their footsteps.

"Hey!"

Blaine removed an earphone, turning around to meet his match. The drinks were thrown before he had a time to react, pelting his face with ice-cold slush. He wiped the blue mush from his eyes and flicked it on the ground, squinting to see his tormentors.

"Welcome to McKinley, _Freak_!"


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: **I want to say thank you to those who are following this story already. That's a lot of faith you're putting in someone not to mess up after the first chapter, so I hope I don't disappoint/offend you. Please feel free to drop me any questions or constructive criticisms, and I'll reward you with cake. Because everyone loves cake. Onward for chapter two.

* * *

"What about the future? Do you have any post-graduate plans?" Emma Pillsbury looked up from restraightening the pens on her desk.

"Erm," Blaine glanced at the woman before looking back to where he was scuffing his boots on the leg of the chair. "Marines? Or computer science, maybe."

"Oh, Marines, that's nice. Well, even the Marines would like to see an extracurricular activity on your transcript. It shows commitment: Dedication." The papers in front of her rustled as she flicked through the pages swiftly.

"Well then maybe you should write one in there, and help me out a bit." Blaine chuckled as Miss Pillsbury coughed awkwardly in the silence that followed.

"Do you have any interests? Do you like sports, Blaine?"

"Sort of. I used to play soccer."

"And what did you like about soccer?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, come on, Blaine. Give me more that 'I don't know'. We have lots of different sports teams you could join here; like hockey or football? I hear they're looking for a new kicker, you're quite small so…" The guidance councillor was cut off before she could continue.

"I'm _not _small." Blaine snapped. Being small implied that he was weak and Blaine was anything but.

The jocks were perceived by everyone else as knights in shining armour, leading the school in a charge to victory. What bullshit. They were the weak ones. Those dumbasses don't know anything: Their muscles make up for their lack of brain cells. They think just because they're at the top of the social food chain that they're better than everyone else. They walk around in their designer clothing, flashing their cash to impress. Natural selection should have cancelled those assholes out years ago.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to offend you."

"S'fine," Blaine slurred.

"Your grades are very good but I you don't seem like the type that would want to join an academic team. How about the glee club? Do you like music?"

"Yeah, but I'm not into any of that show tune... stuff."

"Oh, don't worry. Our glee club is very versatile. I'd like to go to the meeting tomorrow. I think it would be good for you."

"I'll think about it," Blaine huffed, picking up his backpack just at the bell sounded through the corridors. "Thanks, er... Miss Pillsbury."

"You're welcome, Blaine. Remember, if you ever need me, I'll always be here."

"Yeah, I know."

* * *

Blaine hated his father for this. Uprooting him again just for his stupid job. It's like he cared more about work than his family. Although, the ever popular Captain Anderson wouldn't dare to think of his son as a loser, no, he was on the soccer team, people loved him. He was a bit short, but he was just a boy, he'd grow. Find himself a nice girlfriend; settle down with a wife, two kids and a dog. Carrying on the Anderson tradition, no matter where his job with the military may take them. But Blaine wasn't a loser; not as far has he was concerned. Blaine had something he valued higher than wealth, beauty and intelligence: self awareness.

Lima was even worse than Westerville. Going to a private school meant that he forgot just how stupid the rest of the world actually was. If he thought some of the students at Dalton were thick, then students at McKinley were on an entirely different level. He'd been there one whole day and he'd already been slammed into lockers, picked on for his size and had an ice drink thrown in his face. But none of that mattered in the grand scheme of things.

"Hello, welcome to the Lima Bean, can I take your order?"

"Erm, actually I was wondering if there were any job vacancies." The voice was high and soft, if Blaine hadn't had looked up from the counter, he could have sworn it was a woman. However, the person standing in front of him was certainly not. He was beautiful. His eyes shone like the stars in the sky Blaine wished so desperately he could reach; the colour of the oceans he dreamed of sailing. His own little world with just him and this glorious stranger. Blaine was staring but he didn't care. The boy's hair was perfectly coiffed, styled with accuracy to make it haphazardly suave. And those lips, God, Blaine could just imagine them on his, moving quickly with a sense of urgency, a perfect contrast to his appearance, or maybe wrapped around his...

"Oh, I know a few jobs you could do..." Blaine murmured.

"Erm, what?"

_Fuck._

"Er, I mean, I'm sure there's a job for you. Let me get my boss, hang on." He stammered. _Nice going, Blaine_. He took a last glance at the mystery guy before disappearing behind a door. He bypassed the shelves of coffee beans and clean mugs, heading towards a door at the end of a relatively short corridor. As he got closer he could hear the sounds of Boston's, _More Than A Feeling,_ turned up full blast accompanied why some out-of-tune droning.

He opened the door to see his boss sat behind a desk, feet up and flicking through the latest copy of _Time _magazine; 'singing' along to the radio. Phil Winters was a nice, although to put it bluntly he didn't really give a fuck. "Blaine, you're supposed to be working."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry, Phil, but there's this guy who wants to know if we have any jobs..."

"Well, do you see anybody else working here? No? Then that's your answer. Give him an application form and an interview, then tell me if he's any good."

"I've only worked here for like, a few weeks..."

"And I love you already, you'll be fine." He made a little flicky motion with his hand to indicate where the forms were. "Those things are there, yeah, there. Right, now get out."

Blaine huffed and shut the door to the office. When he got back the boy was stood in the same place he left him, glancing around the room before he spotted Blaine and smiled. Blaine was so focused on getting the form to the stranger he didn't register the rapidly growing queue which now consisted of half a dozen people.

"Shit, er, you can just go fill that out then I'll be with you in a minute, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll just be... over there," He pointed to the corner and Blaine nodded in response and flashed him smile, winking at the same time. He enjoyed seeing the colour rise on the boy's cheeks as he turned to serve the customers he'd left waiting.

"Hello, welcome to the Lima Bean, can I take your order?"

* * *

"Sorry about that. I'd rather be over here but 'the customer comes first' and everything." Blaine chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head and pulling out the chair opposite. "Kurt Hummel," Blaine muttered, as he read from the application sheet he'd given the stranger a few minutes ago.

"I'm going to assume that you're reading that, and we don't share the same name." Kurt said.

"Er, yeah, sorry. Again. My name's Blaine."

"I know."

"What?"

"It's on your name tag." Kurt nodded to Blaine's apron where, sure enough, there was a name tag with his name on it.

"Oh yeah," Blaine looked down at his apron, pulling it out as he did so. Kurt laughed. "What?"

"Nothing," He giggled. "The face you just pulled was a bit funny."

"Really?" Blaine purred; leaning forward, putting his elbows on the table and grinning. The other boy blushed again at his actions, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and biting down on it lightly. Blaine's gaze immediately dropped to his lips before glancing back up to Kurt's eyes. He coughed slightly uneasily, eyes darting around, not really sure where to look.

"You don't do this very often do you?" Truth be told, he didn't do 'this' very often either. And when he did, it nearly almost failed.

"Do what?"

"This," He motioned his finger between the two of them.

"Erm, well, I've never applied for a job before, either; which is what I'm supposed to be doing."

"Why, would you rather be doing something else?" Blaine smirked. He was pushing his luck. He'd always liked to think himself a smooth talking guy who could get anyone he wanted, but the truth was, he wasn't. But, for some reason this guy obviously had never received this kind of attention. Blaine could be the one to do that. Kurt stared back, eyes wide and lips parted.

"I see you go to McKinley: senior, right?" Blaine questioned, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, breaking the only slightly uncomfortable silence. If Kurt went to McKinley, then perhaps the little slice of hell some kids called school wouldn't be as bad as he thought.

"Yeah, how did you…?"

"It's on the sheet." He nodded his head towards the paper.

"It doesn't say I'm a senior..."

"No, but you have written down your birthday." Blaine was good at maths. I mean, it doesn't take a genius to figure out which grade someone is in at school, but Blaine still prided himself in the fact that he'd never got lower than an A in the subject.

"So, which school do you go to?" Kurt coughed, changing the subject.

"I used to go to Dalton Academy out in Westerville?"

"I know it. Their glee club competed against us at Regionals last year." Kurt smiled. He seemed genuinely proud of the fact that he was in the glee club. Wait…

"Hang on; you're in McKinley's glee club?" Kurt was in glee club: this day was just getting better and better. If he was forced to go to this god damn club then at least Kurt was going to be there. Really hot, intelligent, beautiful Kurt, who he was quite blatantly ogling right now. All he needed to do was charm his way into those perfectly tight jeans and the first part of his plan would be complete.

"ANDERSON!" A voice shouted over the general clatter of the coffee shop. Blaine's head shot round, pulling him out of his thoughts of Kurt, to see not only the entire cafe staring at him, but Phil stood behind the counter, hands on his hips, eyebrows raised and indicating the queue which sported several irritated looking customers. "Stop flirting with your boyfriend and get your ass over here to serve these _lovely_ people."

Blaine looked between Kurt and the queue of people which awaited him. He sighed pushed back the chair he was sitting on, making it scrape along the floor and earning even more attention. He stood up and regretfully started walking back over to the counter.

"Blaine," he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around to see Kurt, arm out stretched, holding his job application form. "I have to go, because I, er, I'm supposed to be making dinner, but you can call me… or something. Okay, bye." He handed him the piece of paper and waved coyly as he walked out the door, leaving Blaine standing there, eyed by quite a few impatient shoppers.


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N:** Hello to continuing readers and welcome to new readers, I want to say thank you to those people who left me reviews and comments, you really stimulate me to keep writing this. More of Blaine's plan is hinted in this chapter, and if you have any speculations about it I would prefer you keep them under wraps, so not to spoil the story for anyone. Hope you enjoy this chapter, the song Blaine sings is here [/watch?v=ilHw_MZVUc0], reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated. Thanks! ^^

* * *

It wasn't that he was nervous, but he still wanted to linger outside the choir room a while before actually going in. Maybe he could go for some kind of really dramatic entrance with dry ice and flashy lights and all the other cool shit they use in the movies when the villain entered the scene; laughing like a maniac at his victim's impending doom.

Of course Blaine was the villain; heroes don't spend their evenings searching the internet for copies of the Anarchist's Cookbook so they make pipe bombs. However, if you wished to see it this way, Blaine was the hero. He would be saving them of the life they enviably have in front of them, and then their children, and theirs after that and it will keep going on and on like that unless someone did something about it. Idiots like the people he goes to school with shouldn't be allowed to breed, compared to them, he was like God.

Glee club had started a few minutes ago. Blaine wasn't really listening to what they were saying, but it was something about 'motivational songs'. He kept his back pressed against the wall and peered round the doorframe. He spotted Kurt immediately. He was sat at the back and chatting animatedly to an attractive, Hispanic girl dressed in a cheerleading uniform. _Great_. Kurt was friends with the cheerleaders, exactly the people he hated. Even when he was on the soccer team at Dalton, their cheer team from Crawford Country would laugh at him: he didn't even know why.

"Hey, loser," Blaine turned to look down the corridor to see two guys wearing letterman jacket walking towards him. He hated how whenever anybody called out to someone by an offensive name, whether it was _loser_, or _freak_ or _faggot_, he knew they were going to be talking to him. "Yeah, you. What the hell are you doing?"

Well shit. He couldn't exactly say he was spying on the glee club because he was too scared to just walk in there, but he couldn't say he was planning his über theatrical entrance because that was just as lame.

"I said, _what the hell are you doing?_" Before he could say anything Blaine was picked up by the collar of his jacket and thrown across the corridor, stumbling backwards till hit the opposite wall. He slumped his shoulders, keeping his head down as he slid down the lockers, back catching on the hinges of the doors. Blaine moved his head to see the two jocks walking down the hall, high fiving as their laughter bounced off the walls.

He glanced around, up and down the corridor and through the windows of the choir room. The final bell rang not long ago, there were still students and teachers milling about. His attackers weren't exactly quiet, and he was right outside several classrooms, yet no one had come to his defence. What the fuck was wrong with this school? It's not like it mattered anyway. They'd pay for what they'd done. Better not to fight back now and end up get himself into trouble: Ignorance is bliss, so they say.

Blaine picked himself off the floor and grabbed his backpack from where he dropped it moments ago, slung it over his shoulder and walked back over towards the choir room. All previous conversations which were happening in the room stopped, and eyes shifted to where Blaine was lingering awkwardly in the doorway.

"Blaine?" Kurt stood up and walked down towards the piano where a short girl wearing a festive jumper was sitting, stopping short when some guy wearing a sweater vest piped up from the other side of the room.

"Hello, can I help you?" The man walked down and came to stand next to Kurt.

"Er, I'm Blaine and I'm new…" He coughed, shuffling his feet uncomfortably and clutching the strap of his bag. "Miss, er, Pillsbury told me I should come here because it might be 'good' or something."

"Okay, Blaine, why don't you have a seat next to someone you know and I'll give you an introduction to glee, how does that sound?" Said sweater-vest-man: He didn't need to be so patronising about it. Blaine was seventeen not five.

"Sure." He looked around the room to where everyone was subtly glancing around the room, giving off a silent plea of _please don't sit next to me_: You know, the kind one receives when getting onto a really busy bus and no one _really_ wants to sit next to you; a complete stranger, and a weird one at that. The only person staring directly at Blaine was Kurt, now sat at the back of the room, away from anyone else and seat right next to him that Blaine was pretty sure had his name on it.

"Alright! Okay, welcome Blaine. I'm Mr Schuester and we are the New Directions…" Mr Schuester stopped when he heard stifled snickering from the back row.

"Is there anything funny, Blaine?"

"Yeah," Blaine snorted and Kurt gave him a questioning look. "Did you know your Glee club sounds like 'the nude erections'?" More quiet laugher, muffled behind hands filled the room. A guy with a mohawk turned around to face Blaine and put his hand up for him to hi-five.

"I heard some shit about how you were weird, but dude, I've been waiting to say that for three years. Nice one, man." Jeez, people here were easily impressed, but he returned the hi-five regardless. He was secretly pleased with himself.

"Mr Schue!" A hand shot up in the first row. Blaine could see from her jumper that it was the girl who was sat the piano, and even though she's only spoken too words, he knew she was going to annoy the _hell_ out of him. "It is standard glee club procedure that when a new member joins our little group that they should audition. Now, no offence, Blaine, but judging by the t-shirt you're wearing," It was a Rammstein t-shirt, "your taste in music is abysmal. We need backup singers, not props."

"Yes, Blaine you do need to audition, I'm not saying that it needs to be right now but…"

"No, no. I'll do it now." He'll show that stuck up little bitch that he's more than just a 'prop'. God, he hated her already. She didn't even know him and she was already judging him just like everyone at this school. But Blaine had just said he would audition right here and now, and needed to come up with a song and quick. He needed a pop song, this was glee club. _Think, Blaine, think_.

He stood up and walked to the front of the room and faced the firing line. People were offering him instruments left right and centre. He chose an acoustic guitar, put the strap over his shoulder, took a deep breath and counted himself in.

"_I got troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match,_

_What a catch, what a catch."_

So kill him: it wasn't pop, but it was the closest he could think of on short notice. Fall Out Boy used to be cool and Blaine still liked them. Besides he rocked this song like there was no tomorrow.

As he strummed the guitar and sung the lyrics his eyes shifted from person to person. Their expressions were all kind of similar – unreadable. Nobody seemed impressed or surprised, but no one seemed dislike it either. It's like they'd switched off. Somebody had removed the master key which powered all the robots.

That was another reason why Blaine hated school so much. He saw it like a training camp for young minds, but instead of feeding them useful knowledge they could use in later life, they were teaching them to conform. Children would turn up in the morning, go to lessons when the bell rang, and left when it sounded again. They'd go to cafeteria and sit with the same people, and eat the same lunch that their mom packed them every morning. And this happened day after day after day. This was their lives. Spending each day like a trained dog: on a short leash, but still loving the person who feeds it. Pathetic.

Something caught his eye as he was scanning the room again. Kurt leaned forward, balancing his elbow on his knee and leaning his chin on his hand, head cocked slightly to the right, staring Blaine up and down like he was something new, different, unusual. He sung the last lines directly to him. They were exactly the same as the first ones, and in that moment Blaine knew that their relationship was going to end the same way as it started: extraordinarily. He knew what he had to do.

It was as though that last strum of the guitar pulled the trigger and fired the applause. Everyone was on their feet and clapping in approval of Blaine's improvised performance. Well, everyone was standing except that kid in the wheelchair, but Blaine hoped that the way that he was pouting his lips and nodding his head like that was a good thing.

Mr Schuester walked down the steps and clapped Blaine on the back, harder than he was probably aware of. He stumbled forward slightly. "Blaine! That was _amazing! _Have you ever been in glee club before?"

"Um, no, but I do my own personal concerts in the car, if that counts as experience?"

"Of course it does! Everyone welcome our newest star – with a voice like that, you have a chance at being our new male lead!" He laughed to himself and Blaine received a few uneasy looks from the other male glee club members. Particularly Kurt and a boy who was about 90% limbs, sat on the left side of festive-jumper girl, who now had her hand on his knee comfortingly. Oh, gross. Blaine guessed they were glee's 'star-crossed lovers' who sang every song staring intensely into each other's eyes and kissed at the end of each heart-felt performance.

"I hope you don't mind, but I kind of have work and I need time to get there, so I'm gonna leave early today, if that's cool?" Blaine said. Truth was he didn't need to be at work for a while, but his first glee club meeting was getting increasingly awkward as time progressed.

"Sure, Blaine, that's fine. We'll see you at the next rehearsal, right?" He seemed rather desperate.

"Yeah, yeah, of course," He waved it off, before putting the guitar back on the stand at the side of the room. "Kurt?"

"Yeah?" Kurt said, distantly.

"Are you coming?" Blaine questioned; quirking his eyebrow and trying to ignore the double entendre.

"Where?"

Blaine sort of looked around, as though he'd just asked what gravity was. "Work?"

"You mean I got the job?" Kurt looked absolutely delighted, putting his hands together and giving him the widest smile. Blaine thought it looked cute.

"Why wouldn't you? Come on, I'll give you a ride" Blaine winked, picking up his bag and walking out the door and towards the parking lot. He assumed that Kurt would follow him, and if he didn't… Well that was his loss, right? He heard the sound of Kurt jogging down the corridors to catch up as he strolled through the main entrance, trying to remember where he parked his car.

"So, what do you drive?" Kurt slowed down and walked next to Blaine as he looked around the lot.

"A black '91 Honda Prelude," He squinted against the sun and bought his hand up to shield his eyes. It wasn't hot, but damn was it sunny. Kurt scoffed next to him. "What?"

"A '91 Honda, Blaine. _Really_?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?" As if Kurt knew about cars than he did. Although, saying that, Blaine didn't really know anything about cars.

"Nothing, just not my thing, that's all." Kurt assured him. "Does it, er, cost a lot to repair?" He added on the end as a side note.

"A bit…" Blaine affirmed, slightly hesitantly.

"Well, it's just that your Prelude stopped production in '92, so it's hard to find parts which fit that model."

"Right," Blaine put the key in the lock to his car, tossing the keys over the hood to Kurt so he could unlock the passenger door. Opening it for him probably would have been more gentlemanly. Oh well.

Blaine waited for Kurt to get in the car, and give him the keys back so he could start it. When he put the keys in the ignition, German industrial rock started to blast from the custom speakers Blaine installed himself: He may not be good with mechanics, but he was excellent with electronics. He switched off the stereo almost as quickly as Kurt put his hands over his ears, looking apologetically at his passenger.

He finally got the car running after several failed attempts; the engine whining in protest and Kurt grimacing at the sounds it was making. Blaine reversed out of the spot, left the school grounds and headed down the highway.

They drove in silence for a while. Kurt stared out of the window while Blaine kept his eyes on the road, occasionally drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, along to the imaginary beat. It was Blaine who broke the silence.

"How come you know so much about cars anyway?" A question he'd been aching to ask since they left the parking lot. No offence to Kurt, but he honestly did not seem to fit the bill for a car enthusiast.

Kurt sighed. "Did you even read the application form I gave you yesterday? No? Because that would have given you a lot of answers." He turned back to stare out of the window, away from Blaine.

"Oh," This was kind of awkward. "No, Kurt, I'm sorry. I, er, I didn't really need to, you pretty much got the job as soon as I saw you." He laughed nervously, internally cringing at the cheesiness of what he just said. His passenger was silent for a little before turning back to stare out of the windshield.

"I used to work at my dad's garage: he was a mechanic. It was greasy and messy, and I despised the overalls employees had to wear, so I customised mine with shiny buttons and piping for the collar. I didn't want to look the same as everyone else – follow the crowd and follow the rules just because I'd been told to.

"Admittedly, I used to take it for granted, spending extra time with my dad when I could have been doing things with my newly found friends at glee club. When I found them, it was like finally finding a place for that loose part of a rebuilt engine; the trouble was getting it to fit in. When my dad left me last year, everything fell apart: I had to dismantle the entire engine and I never got it to start right again. I stopped caring about the latest fashion, the happy lyrics of Broadway, and I stopped caring about myself.

"I live with Carole and Finn now, and I love them like they're my own family, but it's not the same." Blaine listened silently the entire time. Kurt wasn't crying, but when he glanced over; his eyes were glazed and shiny. It was like he wanted to cry, but he wasn't going to let himself.

"What do you think about when you look at the sky at night, when there's no cloud out and you can see all the stars?" Blaine asked. They stopped at some traffic lights, and he looked over at Kurt. Kurt stared back. There was a world of answers gleaming behind those eyes, and it was like staring straight into his soul. And for that brief moment, Blaine saw the despair, the rage and the anguish Kurt had been storing up his entire life – forever poised and composed on the outside, but a boiling pot of fury on the inside.

That's when the sound of the car horns behind Blaine's car. He jumped and pushed his foot down on the gas pedal. In the time between asking the question, and angering some drivers, Kurt's cell phone rang and he was ranting in hushed tones to someone called Rachel: He didn't care to listen in. Blaine never would get an answer to that question.


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N: **Welcome brethren, both returning and new readers. I must apologise for the delay on this chapter, I have been fairly busy helping with theatre productions and going to prom and all sorts of things. Hopefully there isn't anything in this chapter which will offend anybody, just remember, reviews are like crack to me - even if you hate it, I'd love to know. Enjoy!

* * *

Blaine was walking into the locker room after fitness when he saw them: the same guys who had pushed him into the lockers outside glee club a few weeks ago. He'd learnt after overhearing some kids in his chemistry class, that their names were David Karofsky and Azimio Adams. It didn't take Blaine long to suss out their motives for being McKinley's most notorious bullies.

They were both clearly idiots, for starters. They targeted dorks and nerds because they felt threatened, and didn't want to look as stupid as they really were. The white kid with the brown hair, Karofsky, he was so painfully gay. Blaine didn't believe in any of that 'gay-dar' crap, but when someone so obviously avoids eye contact with any other guys in the locker room when changing, he was blatantly terrified that his friends would leave him, just because he was gay: so he picked on 'fags', to prove to his friends that he wasn't one.

As for the other one, he came from a kind of family who were very… how to put it… proud of their heritage_: _they didn't let the past slide. He picked on kids to prove he was just as good as them, with a kind of '_back in the 60s your family treated mine like crap, so now I'm going to treat you the same way_' sort of persona. While partially insecure about his weight and the fact that none of the cheerleaders wanted to date him, he felt that picking on weaker kids would make him feel better.

Blaine knew about Adams' family background after he was called up in history class to read his essay to his peers. They could write about anything – it was their own choice, it just had to be about history. Azimio didn't tell Blaine anything he didn't already know; practically his entire paper was copied and pasted from Wikipedia. Blaine, however, didn't follow the crowd and write about American history, he wrote his essay on the Holocaust.

Adams and Karofsky were laughing to themselves over the opposite side of the room, watching Blaine as he made his way over to his locker. He turned the lock, completing the combination and pulling it open. Blaine pulled out his backpack, placing it on the bench and heard snickering from behind him. He turned.

"What is your problem, asshole?" Their laughing ceased at once and Blaine knew he'd said the wrong thing.

"What'd you just say?" Dave stepped forward and Azimio placed an arm over his chest to stop him advancing.

"Nothing," Blaine muttered, trying to refocus his attention on getting his clothes out of his bag.

"No, I think he called you an asshole!" Azimio stepped forward to join his friend. They exchanged a glance before walking in Blaine's direction. He felt sure that they were going to punch him or something, leaving him with another bruise to add to his growing collection, and put his arms up to cover his face, waiting for the someone's fist to impact his body. But it never came.

He looked up to see that the jocks had snatched his backpack from the bench and were now rummaging through his belongings, chucking things on the floor as they went. Blaine grimaced as various CDs, books and his clothes were thrown onto the damp tiles of the locker room floor. Trying to get his stuff back was useless. He'd just pick it up after they got bored – not finding anything of interest or value to them.

"So, we have some bullshit CDs, a stupid book and oh, what's this…?" Karofsky put his meaty hand into the bag and pulled out a small, clear bottle made from yellow tinted plastic, filled with white pills. _Shit. _

He read from the label on the bottle. "L-U-V-O-X," he spelt it out, before attempting to say it properly. "_Lou_-vox. What the fuck are these?" Dave said, shoving the bottle into Azimio's hands.

"They look like some kind of crazy pills or something…"

"So, you're a nutcase _and_ a faggot? That's right, I saw you getting all snuggly with lady-pants Hummel on Friday night, down at the bowling alley. Were you two on your first date?" Adams made kissy sounds as Karofsky clasped his hands together and batted his eyelashes. Blaine tried a half assed attempt at getting his stuff back, but Azimio held them high above his head. "He only likes you because you're his only option. Tell me seriously; do you like looking at my ass?" The laughed and Blaine felt the anger boil up inside him. He stood on the bench, moved to grab the bottle but knocked the pills out of the other boy's hand. Blaine watched in despair has the medication went flying through the air, and spilt all over the floor.

As he rushed to pick them up, quickly stuffing any he could grasp back into the bottle, he heard the briefly stifled laughter continue. Blaine sniffed, wiping his nose on his hand and moving to pick up the rest of his possessions.

"No one wants you here, Freak. Everyone hates you."

* * *

Blaine had nothing last period; he would have gone home but he had Glee. He decided he'd go to the library, get his homework done now so he could spend his free evening playing Doom and working on his third batch of pipe bombs. The previous sets had been okay, but the crickets had been the best so far. They were the easiest to make, too. Sadly, they did the least damage.

He got there, put his bag down on the table, and that's when he saw Kurt. He wasn't drawing attention to himself; he was just sat at his own table, quietly reading the book placed in front of him. He kept his head down, seemingly engrossed in his reading to anyone passing by.

"Kurt?" He didn't hear Blaine at first; absorbed in his own little world, consumed by his thoughts, so Blaine repeated himself. "_Kurt_?" This time a little louder, picking up his backpack and dumping it on the table in front of the other boy.

Kurt jumped slightly, gripping the edge of his book and looking around, panic stricken, before focusing on Blaine. In the split second before Kurt buried his head in his book again, Blaine could see that the rims of his eyes and the tip of his nose were red, and since it was October, he doubted that it was hay fever. On further observation, Blaine could see that Kurt wasn't wearing his usual attire of a jacket or a blazer, with a shirt and a tie, but a plain black t-shirt and navy blue jeans. He didn't seem to have anything else with him.

"Hi," that was all that he said.

"Hey," Blaine pulled out the chair opposite Kurt. They kept meeting this way – Kurt would be sitting and Blaine would join him. "Are you okay?" He wasn't very good with the whole crying shebang, but Kurt was his best friend, and he needed him to trust him.

"What does it look like?" Kurt sniffed. As sarcastic as ever, Blaine noted.

"What happened?" He tried to sound as concerned as possible.

"Just some guys slushied me before pushing me into some lockers, it's no big deal." _Liar. _When Kurt looked up, Blaine saw it again, the flash of anger; the volcano ready to erupt. This time it was mixed with sadness: A kind of hopelessness, despair, desolation.

"No, no, Kurt, it is a big deal. What happened to your clothes?"

"Well, the blue colouring doesn't come out of fabrics, and I chose a really bad day to wear white." He shrugged it off, but it was getting to him, and Blaine could see it.

"Material possessions won't get you far in this shithole we call life."

"I know." His knuckles were white where he was gripping the hardback cover of his book harder than he was probably aware of.

"Who was it?"

"I don't know if you know them," he hesitated. "Their names are Azimio Adams and Dave Karofsky, but Blaine, you can't tell the principle or anyone –"

"_Fuck,_" Blaine spat out, under his breath.

"What?" Kurt tilted his head in question.

"Those bastards stole my meds and held them where I couldn't reach, and I couldn't do anything about it." He huffed, crossing his arms. Blaine was trying to get Kurt angry, but he seemed to reignite his own fury from earlier in the day.

"Blaine, this is more serious than me getting my clothes dirty: you should tell someone." Kurt appeared genuinely worried.

"No, you just said yourself, no one cares: they wouldn't do anything about it because they favour people who fit in. In their eyes, we're asking for it."

"I just wish there was a way to make them pay for all the shit I have to endure every single fucking day of my life, you know?" It was more of out loud musing, than an actual question, but Blaine dithered before deciding to reply.

"Maybe there is…"

There is an everlasting contrast – the fight between good and evil. All you need to do is pick up a history book and there it is, laid out before you. You pick your side, and you just hope that it picks you back. He didn't want to push his luck, but this was the decider. Kurt had to pick, was he with him, or against him?

"What? Like… revenge?" _Bullseye._

* * *

Blaine had these grandiose ideas of what he was going to do to get his friend out of a first storey window, but when he arrived at the address Kurt has given him, it turned out that his lived in a bungalow, thus making all his plans useless. Neither the less, there he was, sat in a tree, throwing pebbles at his partner in crime's bedroom window, feeling very much like a character from a cheesy rom-com.

The whole idea of hiding in the tree was to save questioning in case anyone was to walk past and ask about their plans. However, Blaine didn't really think through what he would do with his car once he got there, so he just left it outside the house; voiding the whole tree-plan. If such an event did arise, Blaine was 110% certain he would be able to lie. He could convince them that he was going to climb Mount Everest, or that he had a twin brother growing out of his back. He could make them believe anything.

He heard the sound of a window slowly sliding open, and somebody whispering his name in the darkness. Blaine tried to be smooth, and climb down from the tree so he actually looked like one of those douchebags from the movies, but ended up landing rather ungracefully on his ass with a dull thud. Kurt chuckled at Blaine's uncoordinated entrance, and he gave Kurt a playful scowl in return before they both headed back to his car, setting off on their first mission.

It was Kurt who had given Blaine, Karofsky's address. He said he'd put it on Facebook, and didn't enable any of the safety features available on the site. Honestly, how stupid can people be? It's like they want to be targets, just begging to be shot.

Blaine stopped the car and checked his watch: _01:34am_. Perfect.

"Right, we're going to leave the car here and walk the next few hundred meters so any passers-by can't identify my car, okay?" Blaine confirmed. Kurt nodded. "Get the bag."

He popped the trunk and let Kurt pick up the black duffel bag. In the meantime, Blaine went into the glove box on the passage side of his Prelude and grabbed a small, hand-held video camera.

"What's that for?" Kurt asked as he reappeared next to him.

"I want to record everything that happens from here on in. It'll be like our own little documentary: Directors will be fighting over this story one day. Who would you rather have direct your life, Spielberg or Tarantino?" Blaine raised his eyebrow and stared at Kurt. It was a serious question, but the other boy just laughed along with him.

Personally, Blaine would choose Tarantino. Sure, Spielberg made some classics; he'd be great at capturing the tragedy of the Judgement Day, but would probably make Blaine and Kurt out to be some kind of 'star crossed lovers'. Blaine would make sure that Spielberg knew that he thought about that matter: What one person thought about true love can be just other cheap thrill to another. Tarantino, on the other hand, had taken some kind of role in making some of Blaine's favourite movies of all time: Inglorious Bastards, Pulp Fiction and Natural Born Killers – that man knew the true meaning of entertainment.

They began to walk. Blaine had swapped with Kurt, in terms of carrying items. He was now carrying the duffle bag and a flash light, and Kurt was filming him as they idled down the road. Kurt thought it was mildly amusing that Blaine turned up green on the screen of the camera. "Night vision isn't usually funny," he said. "But it makes you look like the Hulk or something." That made Blaine laugh. Then he made a joke about how it would be more fun turning up at Karofsky's with a shotgun which surprisingly made Kurt laugh, too.

"Quick, down here!" Blaine pulled on Kurt's sleeve so they were both crouching behind the bushes which surrounded Karofsky's front yard. He lived in the kind house you'd expect anyone of those jock-assholes to live in: big and fancy. Symmetrically structured, with three floors and a basement which was converted especially so their only son could hold parties where there would be lots of alcohol and girls. Blaine wondered what Karofsky's parents would do if they found out their son was gay, and then wondered what his parents would do in the same situation.

They had planned to target Dave's Range Rover he drove into school every day; always shining like he'd stolen the polish for the crown jewels. But when they looked over to the driveway, it wasn't there.

"_Fuck_, he actually has the brains to lock the thing away at night." Blaine whispered, angrily.

"Wanna break into the garage and see if it's in there?" Kurt suggested.

"And risk getting caught; being arrested for breaking and entering a ruining this entire mission? Come on, Kurt, I don't think so." Kurt insisted it was only a suggestion, but still looked a little apologetic. "No, no, we stick to plan B."

Blaine dragged the bag closer and shoved aside any things they'd planned to use to smash up Karofsky's car, pulling out a carton of eggs.

"Blaine, these smell so bad, how long have you had these?"

"Just a few weeks or so – long enough so that they smell like the boy's locker room." Kurt laughed, as Blaine offered him the first throw. He pulled his arm back and threw it has hard as he could, so it smacked against the brickwork with a quiet crack. He looked back at Blaine as both of them smiled at each other in triumph before continuing to pelting the house with eggs.

Blaine put on a high, whiney voice to imitate Mrs Karofsky, placing both hands on his chest and batting his eye lashes. "David, come quickly! Somebody has covered our house with something that smells like your socks! Whatever shall we do?"

Kurt laughed. "It's getting close to Halloween, I mean; it's not our fault if your house isn't egg-proof."

"Yeah, trick or treat motherfuckers!" He half whispered, half shouted.

They managed to get through two dozen eggs before one of the upstairs lights switched on and Blaine made the hasty decision that they should make a run for it. By the time they had made it to the safety of Blaine's Prelude, both boys were still laughing, and wheezing slightly from the sprint back to the car.

On the drive back to Kurt's house, they exchanged various '_that was fucking awesome_'s and 'I _can't wait to see Karofsky's face tomorrow_'s, before discussing who they'd like to be the victim of their next mission. Blaine plugged his iPod into the jack on the stereo and _I Am What I Am_ by KMFDM came on shuffle. Kurt said that it was 'their song' because it outlined how 'normal' people saw kids like them. Blaine corrected him by saying that's how the _zombies_ saw them. Kurt agreed.

When Blaine pulled up on the curb he checked his watch again: _02:17am_. Kurt got out the car, walked found to the driver's side and waited for Blaine to roll down the window.

"You know, before I met you, I never would have dreamed of doing anything like this – but now I see; this is what they deserve. You showed me that we're so much better than all of them and I just wanted to say thanks, I guess." Kurt scuffed his feet on the pavement before bending down and giving Blaine a chaste kiss on the lips. "I'll see you tomorrow, Blaine." And with that, he was gone.


	5. Chapter Five

**A/N: **Hello again, if you actually read these notes then thank you, but mainly thank you for reading this story. It suddenly seems very relevant, given the news we received from Denver, CO earlier this week. If you live in or around the area, or know anyone who does I hope you're all okay and aren't suffering too badly from this event. None of the things in this chapter should be attempted in real life, eventhough yes, it should work. Reviews are always welcomed and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks!

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The way Blaine saw it, a kiss on the cheek was the physical equivalent of saying 'I want to fuck you', so that was a good thing which had happened to him recently. But that was two weeks ago, and Kurt hasn't done anything since. Blaine didn't want to scare him, you know? They say there was plenty of fish in the sea, but Blaine's time was limited, and this might be the only chance that he'd ever get to have sex with someone, so he wasn't going to pull in the line too quickly.

However, they had been on more missions. Last week it was Halloween, and instead of going out trick or treating, they decided to wreak havoc from the roof of Blaine's house. Since it was dark, and there was a huge oak tree which provided them cover from prying eyes, it was a perfect location for a prank. Blaine took his BB gun up on the roof with Kurt and they would fire at people who were walking past. Kids would look around all confused, wondering what had hit them as parents shouted and cursed at the air, all while Kurt and Blaine were hidden from view, convulsing with silent laughter.

Another time they went to Azimio's house and super glued the hinges on his front door, as well as the seals around his windows. They bought some yellow spray paint from the local Walmart and wrote offensive words on his front lawn, so he would have a lovely view when he looked out his window in the morning. Blaine scattered thumbtacks on their porch and drive way, so just in case they managed to get out of their newly super glued house, they'd be walking around with pins in their shoes all day, wondering what was making their feet click each time they took a step.

Convincing Kurt to go on missions with him was loads easier Blaine anticipated. He thought he was going to have a hell of a job when he first met the seemingly whole-hearted Kurt Hummel, but persuading him to help him with the first one was like setting off a trail of dominos. He was now contributing new pranks they could pull, and who would be their next victim. As it turns out that Kurt didn't need Blaine to share his destructive ideas, he already had them; Blaine was the trigger for letting them all out. He hoped he wasn't pushing his luck when he asked Kurt to make pipe bombs with him at the weekend.

They were currently stood at a work bench in Blaine's garage: Blaine was unloading several different plastic bags full of equipment like metal pipes, while Kurt was adjusting the tripod which had the same video camera they'd used on all their previous missions on. Blaine had explained to Kurt that he wanted to build up an archive of footage – that he didn't want to forget all the good times he'd has at a teenager. The truth was slightly different: he didn't want the world to forget, he wanted it to be at the forefront of their minds every day. Blaine also suggested putting this on his blog, so other people could cause mischief like they were; Kurt thought that was a good idea. He flicked the button to start recording.

"Okay, Kurt, welcome to your first pipe bomb-building tutorial. Are you excited?" Blaine winked at him. The camera shot showed the full length of the work bench, with Kurt and Blaine standing either side, showing their side profiles. Kurt nodded in response and smiled back with confidence.

Blaine turned to address the camera like he was presenting a television show. "Pipe bombs are one of the best homemade explosives because they're small but effective. Also, anyone can buy the components to make them. You will need pipes, caps, waterproof fuse wire and some kind of explosive powder to put in the middle. When you're buying all the stuff you need, just use your common sense make sure to go to several different stores; you don't want to cause any suspicion that you're actually making them, 'cause you don't wanna get arrested or anything.

"We're using pipes made from galvanised steel; don't use plastic pipes because they'll melt, and don't buy anything more expensive than galvanised steel because, well, you're just going to blow them up." Kurt just nodded along to what Blaine was saying.

"Make sure your caps fit on the ends of your pipes because they're going to keep everything you put inside, actually inside. What you want to do is drill holes in half the caps that you have. I've already done this, but I kept one so I could show you how, because I'm nice like that." He flashed a smile at the camera.

"Oh yeah, Blaine, showing people how to make explosives really exudes 'nice, trustworthy person'." Kurt remarked.

"Hey, who said anything about trustworthy?" He joked and Kurt snorted. "Get the camera and move it over here, will you?"

While Kurt was manoeuvring the tripod, Blaine unwound the clamp attached to the desk in front of him and fixed the cap there, pushing on it until he was sure it was secure. "I'm going to use a hand-drill, but it doesn't really matter if it's electric. Ensure that the actual drill you use is roughly the same width as your fuse, because if that falls out, so will all your gunpowder." He drilled the hole as he said his, before putting the various equipment aside, and asking Kurt to move the camera back.

"Kurt, you can do this bit: you need to cut the fuse. Depending on how longer delay you want before these blow, you need to cut the fuse different lengths: ours need to be about 15cm for this batch. When you've done that, you need to thread them through the caps you drilled holes in earlier." Reaching across the bench to pick up one of the fuses Kurt had already cut, and the cap he'd drilled moments ago, he showed the camera how to thread the fuse through the hole – you'd think people would know how to do that, but he didn't want to take any chances.

"Take the caps you didn't drill holes in and put them on one end of your pipe. Now it's time to add your powder. There are two types you can use: smokeless powder and black powder. I suggest using the latter. Black powder burns faster and creates a bigger boom – it's also cheaper. So, use that one. This shit also leaves black marks everywhere, so put some gloves on or something; you don't need people asking '_oh, why have you got gunpowder on your clothes, little Blainers?_', '_It's nothing, mommy, I was just making pipe bombs with Kurt!' _No, okay? Just no." Kurt laughed at the high pitched voice Blaine put on to imitate his mother and a younger version of himself. Blaine liked it when Kurt laughed, there was some kind of stimulation to be gained from it – like a confirmation he was doing things right.

"You don't have to limit yourself to just gunpowder in these things, you can fill your pipes with shrapnel: this is important if you want to do some real damage. We're going to put some small nails in ours, but you can use screws, BB's, small calibre bullets, buckshot…" He counted the different items on this left hand. "Hell, staples would even be useful. Whatever – just something sharp and-slash-or heavy."

Blaine used a funnel to pour the pre-mixed tub of gunpowder and shrapnel into the pipes and then fastened the cap with the fuse though it to the open end. He showed the camera how, and Kurt watched intently. After several minutes they'd both made half a dozen each.

"And you're done!" Blaine clapped his hands down on the table. "I hope you found this tutorial of some use, um, I hope your bombs work, and remember where ever and whenever you use these, have fun! Say good bye, Kurt."

"Bye!" He waved at the camera lens.

"Laterz." Blaine reached over and switched the camera off.

"So, Blaine, when are we going to have fun testing these?" He would have interpreted this question as flirty if it wasn't for the sincere look Kurt was giving him as he leaned across the table. Blaine bent forwards, resting on his hands so he was face to face with Kurt over the desk.

"Tonight. But first, we need to clean up this shit before my dad comes home." He patted Kurt's cheek and smiled audaciously before jumping away to fetch various bags both for trash and their new pipe bombs. Kurt groaned and reluctantly followed Blaine.

* * *

Blaine's mother was away visiting her sister back in Arkansas. There were three advantages to that:

1) Blaine hated his aunt. She held the stereotypical views of the southern American: a classic example of a redneck. She was strongly religious, conservative and a racist. God forbid she would ever find out that Blaine was gay – he wouldn't put it past her to burn him at the stake, or send him away to '_cleanse him of the bad demons possessing his soul!'_ His mother going down to see her saved his aunt coming up here.

2) He hated his mother just as equally; being the youngest in her family, she was just like a little clone of her sister. As a child he was forced to go to church and let Christianity manipulate his mind and influence his thoughts. He snapped out of it soon enough. He begin to rebel – locking himself in the bathroom and refusing to come out until his parents said he didn't have to go. His brother however, he was always the Anderson family poster boy – he had the best grades in school, the striker in the soccer team and always doing what mommy and daddy told him to. All that said, he didn't hate his brother, he was just pissed at him for setting the bar so high, and even though Blaine hated to admit it, he was pretty short, that bar was way out of his reach.

3) With his mother gone, and his father out for a drink with friends, it would be a piece of cake getting out the house tonight for mission four. But this wasn't just a 'testing their fresh batch of pipe bombs' kind of mission, Blaine was going to take Kurt to the perfect venue for an explosion show.

They dressed in their appropriate mission attire, (while Kurt insisted on dressing like he worked undercover for the FBI, Blaine opted for a camouflage t-shirt and black combat pants,) packed their respective backpacks, and waited till the time was right to get going.

"Are you sure your dad won't be back before we are?" Kurt asked as he put on his seatbelt.

"Kurt, relax. If he does get back before us he'll be passed out on the couch for sure. Don't sweat it. If I were you, I'd be more concerned about the fact that we're going to test some homemade explosives." Blaine suggested as he turned the key in the ignition and his car rumbled noisily in the darkness of his street.

Kurt plugged his iPod into the jack attached to the stereo in Blaine's car. Blaine didn't really know what to expect when his passenger hit play, but it wasn't this.

"No offense, but I'd have taken you as a musicals kind of guy." Blaine suggested as the sound of electric guitars and drums filled the car.

"Well, it is a musical; it's just more of a… rock opera, I guess. Besides, what's wrong with Green Day?" Kurt questioned.

"Hey, I never said there was anything wrong with Green Day! I like them! Although, saying that, I'm not too keen on their last album, what was it called, again?"

"21st Century Breakdown?"

"That's the one. It's just too… pop-rock for me."

"And American Idiot isn't?" Kurt laughed.

"Whatever, I can appreciate that they're good musicians."

Kurt was silent for a while as Blaine drove down the empty road, cruising through the green lights and drumming the steering wheel with his fingers, along to the music. As he was listening to the lyrics, Blaine thought how fitting the words were to his situation: He was the Jesus of Suburbia – the '_illegitimate son of God'_ as his favourite KMFDM song suggested. Blaine would be leaving, just not in the same sense as St. Jimmy. Their fates would be the same only Blaine's wouldn't be metaphorical.

"Where are we going, anyway?" asked Kurt.

"You'll see," he said as he flicked the indicator and turned left off the high street.

Kurt looked around before turning back to his driver. "Blaine, are we going to school?"

Blaine chuckled darkly in response as he indicated again and pulled into the school parking lot. He stopped the car just as the song came to a close. He sat staring to the darkness. At this moment he felt an adrenaline rush, a mix between excitement and intense anger – a hatred for the every ground he was currently on. Some people called it school, he called it prison. What this prison needs is a good riot: even better than the one in Natural Born Killers, where Mickey and Mallory fight their way through carnage with a television crew. No, what he wanted was a revolution; he was going to kick natural selection up a few notches.

Blaine looked at Kurt who was currently staring at him, a wicked grin on his face before he grabbed his backpack from the back seat and jumping out the car. Blaine rolled his eyes and followed him out.

Kurt seemed to be getting more out of this than Blaine was he practically ran over to the football field, bags slung over his shoulder. Blaine had checked earlier in the week that there weren't any security cameras around the sports field to catch them in the act, because that was the last thing Blaine needed. Getting caught by the school, his parents or the police would wreck all of his plans, so he made sure that he was super careful.

They made it mid-way up the bleachers; this would ensure that they could lob the bombs into the centre of the field without breaking them, but were far enough away not to be hit by any of the shrapnel they'd put inside the pipes. Well, hopefully.

Blaine pulled one out of his backpack and produced a box of matches from his pocket. He struck a match and held it against the fuse until it started to spark. He threw it and they waited. It only took a few seconds before the bomb had exploded with a fairly loud bang, and dissolved into a small fire, shortly extinguished as Blaine ran over and stamped it out. Kurt hollered vociferously from the bleachers before Blaine signalled for him to keep it down. He heard the other boy laugh as he ran down the stairs to come and survey their damage.

"Ha!" Kurt cackled as he came close to where Blaine was standing, he hugged Blaine with such force it knocked him back a few steps, however he hugged the other boy back gladly; it was just one step closer to actually getting in his pants. "That was… fucking awesome! Let's do this in school time when those jock assholes are actually on the field! Give them what they deserve for picking on us for so long!" He shouted triumphantly.

Blaine pulled back from the hug and looked Kurt straight in the eye.

"What? I, er, I'm joking." He laughed nervously, turning away from Blaine and hanging his head in shame.

He put his hand on Kurt's shoulder and turned him back around. When Kurt shifted his gaze from the floor to Blaine, there wasn't anything he could say. There wasn't anything to be said. It was just there – the idea that had been swimming around in Kurt's head for years, locked away, the key long lost, until Blaine came along with the tools to retrieve it. It was the uprising Blaine had been planning for more than a year, not searching for an accomplice, but not knowing it was the piece of his plan he was missing.

As they stood there in the darkness, surrounded by the remains of their homemade weapons, a million unsaid things ringing in their ears, Blaine thought it was a one in a million chance that two kids like them would come together, but somehow, it happened. And now they must walk the road which had been chosen for them. It was almost like their destiny to provoke the change they both so desperately wanted, in this drastic fashion, and it was perfect.

"Okay?" Blaine asked.

"Okay." Kurt replied.


	6. Chapter Six

**A/N: **Firstly, apologies for the delay, but I've been busy doing various things, earning money and all that kind of stuff. Not a lot happens in this chapter, which also made it harder to write, but here it is! I love the people who leave me reviews, and I do thank each of them personally. I love to know what you like/dislike about my writing and I'm always happy to hear from my readers. I know this whole topic is kind of tabooed, and I hope I don't offend you too much. Okay, I'm done, enjoy!

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Blaine wasn't too fond of leaving the house. As sad as it sounded, he just liked to sit in his room on his own. That was one of his fantasies – just to live in his own little world all by himself, free from the thoughts the plagued him daily: he longed for boredom. There was some kind of freedom in loneliness. He would be free from all the stupidity that roamed this goddamn planet. If Blaine could be the ultimate decider – the one who chooses whether people live or die - there would only be about 100 people left on Earth, he was sure of that.

Kurt and Blaine had decided at work the Friday following their mutual agreement for destruction, that the day of their up and coming attack would be called Doomsday.

_ Dooms·day_

_ Noun: The last day of the world's existence._

The date was still undecided and they wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible – the only thing they were certain about was that it would be close to the end of the last semester. This was because as soon as everyone was getting ready for the freedom that came with the end of school, they would really be getting ready for the ending of their lives and freedom from the hell that is planet Earth, they just didn't know it. That was Kurt's ideology. In a way they were saving them from the horrors of the world. They were helping to take them somewhere clean and kind. Anywhere is better than this place, right?

They also made the collective assessment not to write anything down. All their films would be added to the safety deposit box Blaine had purchased at the bank a few days after their first mission, and left in a will to any media source that wanted them. The world needed to know that they were the ones who had to change. Kurt added that he wished Blaine had told him about his plans earlier, to which Blaine responded "I didn't want to scare you away."

Anyway, Blaine decided to venture out of his house this weekend to go shopping. Apart from buying some more pipe bomb components and a new keyboard for his computer, (he'd stupidly spilt Coca-Cola over the last one – not a mistake he would be making again,) Blaine bought a trench coat. This had two purposes. 1) He and Kurt could wear these on Doomsday. Blaine was small anyway, but these coats came down past their knees and would easily be able to conceal their illegally modified weapons. 2) It was getting cold and he actually needed a new coat.

Even though it was fairly mild outside, Blaine decided to begin wearing his coat to school. Better to start wearing it now and to keep wearing it, so not to raise suspicion when Doomsday came around. He didn't want to ruin the surprise before it was time by 'randomly' wearing an unusual coat. When he walked into glee club on Tuesday, this is what greeted him:

"Dude, what the hell are you wearing?" Finn asked. Blaine had gotten to know Finn moderately well from the many times he'd been over to Kurt's house in the last few weeks. They'd played video games together, worked on glee projects and he even helped that idiot with his homework.

"Er, it's a trench coat." Stated Blaine, as if he was pointing out the obvious.

"But why? It's like 90 degrees outside."

"Finn, it's November…" Kurt piped up from the back row, passing his stepbrother a dubious glance.

"I like it. It looks… different." Blaine said. And that was the truth. He didn't wear it because it was cool; he wore it because it wasn't.

"It looks retarded." Finn shrugged and turned to talk to Brittany – the only girl who out did the boy when it came to idiocy.

Despite his stupidity, Blaine had always thought Finn was a cool guy; he thought that they were friends. However, friends did not insult each other in full seriousness. He brushed it off for now, but Blaine was not one to forget when someone insulted him.

When glee began, Mr. Schue announced that the school production of West Side Story was going to be showing this weekend and Finn's short, bossy girlfriend, Rachel Berry, got up to make a short motivational speech. Kurt explained how he auditioned for the part of Tony but didn't get it because he was different, thus settling for another part that was less than second best. He complained how his acting opportunities were limited because of who he was – how he would be forever stereotyped into the role of 'gay best friend'. Blaine explained how they would always be stereotyped whatever they did because that was just the world they lived in. They both agreed the world sucked.

Although Blaine hated musical theatre, he promised he'd come and watch Kurt. It was kind of ironic how Kurt was playing the role of Officer Krupke, a character who stops crime, when he himself would be causing one in the near future.

"Thank you, Rachel. Now, since so many of you are involved with this performance, and you're all working so hard, I've decided that you can have a whole week free of your glee commitments!" Mr. Schuester held his arms out, as though he was expecting a hug, while laughing slightly awkwardly. Blaine didn't see what was funny about it, and nor did anyone else, apparently.

Everyone looked around as though they didn't quite know what to do with themselves; as though glee was their life and they couldn't survive without it even for a week. How sad. Blaine dreaded to think what they did in summer. Luckily he would put them out of their misery once and for all.

After much debate, everyone decided that they were going to go back to Rachel's house, and hang out in her 'awesome' basement. They were all making their way out of the door when the Asian girl, Tina, turned around to face a lingering Kurt and Blaine.

"Kurt, are you coming?" She asked and Blaine noted that he wasn't personally invited.

"Um…" Kurt glanced at Blaine, sending an internal scream of _help me._

"We'll catch up with you!" Blaine said, flashing the girl a smile, as her boyfriend pulled her out the door. He made sure they were out of earshot before facing Kurt again. "You don't want to go, do you?"

Kurt looked uneasy.

"You don't want to go because they annoy you?"

"Kind of…" Kurt mumbled.

"Or is it because you're so sad you don't really want to go anywhere? You feel like it's an effort to get out of bed in the morning, to face another day in hell with the people you despise."

Something seemed to close behind Kurt's eyes when he said this. Blaine obviously knew him better than he anticipated. He'd known the boy few weeks and he already had him figured out. It wasn't hard: great minds think alike, after all. He didn't do anything; he just stood there looking back at Blaine in bewilderment.

"Look at you; glee club is the highlight of your day and even that doesn't fill you with the joy it used too. You feel you're broken beyond repair. You can't even tell your friends that you're unhappy. Who are you kidding, Kurt? You don't trust any of them, do you?"

Kurt shook this head slowly.

Blaine lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. "They don't really like you. They tolerate you. That's why you never get solos: the attention you deserve. You think they're your friends, but they're not."

He wasn't telling Kurt anything he didn't already think for himself, but if he had any doubts about Kurt really going through with Doomsday then surely this would seal his fate. Kurt needed to be detached from the people he wasn't certain that he trusted – Blaine didn't know who those people were, and he didn't really care, but he needed this confirmation: this full commitment.

Kurt didn't cry. He sort of looked like he wanted to, but he didn't. He took a deep breath and followed Blaine outside, to find the others stood just outside the main entrance.

"There you are…" Rachel began, but Blaine cut her off.

"Sorry, guys. We've got work. See you later. Come on, Kurt." He motioned for him to follow, but didn't wait for him.

"Yeah… See you." Kurt said, before running to catch up with Blaine.

As they walked side by side through the parking lot, Blaine was half tempted to reach out and take Kurt's hand in his, but he didn't. They didn't speak until they got to the car, because Blaine was too busy listening to what his peers were saying. As they got further away, what they were saying became harder to make out, and they seemed to realize that Blaine could actually still hear them.

When they got to the car, Blaine asked Kurt a question: 'did you hear what they were saying about us?"

"No," Kurt replied. "And I don't want to know, either." And with that he opened the door to his car and got in.

It had become a habit for them to park next to each other everyday in the parking lot. Blaine had learnt that Kurt drove a renovated BMW because that was the last car him and his dad worked on before he passed away. He also learnt that Mercedes, who apparently used to have a crush on him, smashed in the windows of his car because Kurt said he was in love with Rachel Berry, of all people.

They didn't really have work today, and the rest of glee club would know that as soon as they saw them driving off in their separate cars, but fuck them. As he watched Kurt reverse his car from the parking spot, and drive out of the lot, Blaine mulled over some of the words he heard drifting from his supposed 'friends'. They'd called them _different_, _weird_ and _strange_… and maybe they were all of those things, but those things are never used in a good sense when said behind your back.

* * *

Blaine sat at his computer, a half finished essay opened in Word, and logged onto Skype. A few of his friends from Dalton were online, but he didn't really feel like talking to any of them. The only other person was Kurt; luckily he was the only one Blaine felt like talking to right now.

_-titan-: hi_

_ **black-jack: hey…**_

_-titan-: I'm sorry_

_ **black-jack: for what?**_

_-titan-: upsetting you_

_ **black-jack: you didn't upset me**_

_-titan-: oh. you left in kind of a hurry, that's all_

_ **black-jack: you just… surprised me**_

_-titan-: what?_

_**black-jack: when you said the people at glee club aren't really my friends. **_

_-titan-: oh… well, they're not_

_**black-jack: I know**_

_-titan-: they're just a bunch of fake bitches. whats real about them really?_

_**black-jack: it's like we see more than they do**_

_-titan-: exactly! like they can't see whats right in front of them. they just sing and dance and pretend everything is alright in the world, when really it's not. and suddenly when something rocks the group they just sing another fucking song about it. it's just like 'get a life! gawwwd!'_

_**black-jack: blaine…**_

_-titan-: sorry. I get a bit carried away sometimes…_

_**black-jack: there's something I've never told you**_

_-titan-: oh yeah?_

_**black-jack: you know when I said the only person who had ever had a crush on me was mercedes?**_

_-titan-: yeah_

_**black-jack: that was a lie. there was… maybe still is someone else**_

_-titan-: who?_

_**black-jack: it was disgusting. it was last year after my dad died. one day I just snapped and went to yell at him for picking on me everyday of my life. and when I thought he was going to punch me he just… kissed me**_

_-titan-: who was it kurt? who did that to you?_

_**black-jack: karofsky**_

_-titan-: WHAT_

_**black-jack: blaine do not tell ANYONE! he'll kill me!**_

_-titan-: what does it matter? we're going to kill him anyway! we're going to kill all of those snotty-ass, rich, motherfucking, high strung, godlike-attitude having, worthless pieces of shit whores!_

_**black-jack: blaine I'm serious!**_

_-titan-: and so am I! I gotta go…_

_-titan- is offline_

He opened the Internet and logged onto his blog. Blaine had never hated the world as much as he did right now – all the anger stored up from the times he was beaten up and shoved in lockers. Egging Karofsky's house couldn't cure his hatred. It wasn't just the people who physically picked on him – it was the ones who didn't say anything. Or the ones he thought were his friends. It was Blaine and Kurt against the world, and it wasn't like he didn't already know that, but the idea had just been reborn.

Blaine's belief is that if he said something, it goes. He was the law and if you didn't like it, you die. If he didn't like you or didn't like what you wanted him to do, you die. If you did something incorrect, oh fucking well, you die. Dead people can't do many things, like argue, whine, bitch, complain, narc, rat out, criticize, or even fucking talk. So that's the only way to solve arguments with all the fuckheads out there.

'_God,'_ he wrote._ 'I can't wait till I can kill you people. I'll just go to some downtown area, in some big-ass city, and blow up and shoot everything that I can. I'd feel no remorse and no sense of shame. Ich sage, FICKT DU!'_

Blaine took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. He ignored the incoming call from Kurt, as his phone buzzed from his nightstand, and for the first time really considered the situation. Kurt and Blaine had these long conversations how they would jump in the car and go around blowing up schools all over the state – become the next Mickey and Mallory Knox, martyrs for all the kids who had ever wanted revenge. Kurt may not realize this, but that's not going to happen at all. He was coming out of that school in a black plastic bag.

When Blaine said he was not one to forget those who had done something wrong to him, he wasn't kidding. It wasn't those that physical picked on him that he was mad at, it was those who didn't do anything: those that were too scared to make a move, and only made a few snide comments here and there. Those were the ones who really needed to die.

'_I don't care if I live or die in the shootout, all I want to do is kill and injure as many of you pricks as I can, especially a few people. …Like Finn Hudson.'_


End file.
